4 AM; The Wall a Headrest


Things get out of my
head, crawl back in,
toss my brain around.
I’ve got some muscle
in my neck, I’ve been
carrying a lot up there
recently. It’s too cold,
it’s too warm, I’m
too weary to adjust the
thermostat. My
feet are dirty, I’ll
wake my mother
if I take a shower,
I smell like the leaves.
I wonder if they miss
their branches or
if the responsibility
of living up there was
too much to handle so
they just let go, fell
fell fell to the ground,
let themselves become
brittle, waited for the
next autumn to come
around so they’d get
some touch again,
some warmth, something
to remind them that
they’re not as alive
as they once were.


-previously published in Parallax